


Twist My Arm

by Derry Rain (smakibbfb)



Series: The Terror Hip Bingo [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: only as platonic as you make it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26047897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smakibbfb/pseuds/Derry%20Rain
Summary: In which Little pays a visit to the other ship.
Series: The Terror Hip Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886383
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Twist My Arm

**Author's Note:**

> _Sucked in by the victim world  
>  Thirsty as a cultured pearl  
> Culled and wooed, bitten, chewed  
> It won't hurt if you don't move  
> Do I want to, with all that charm?  
> Do I want to? Twist my arm_  
> \- Twist My Arm, The Tragically Hip

Little sinks into the chair, bone-chilled, eyes streaming in the changed temperature of the room. He’s too tired, too cold to care overmuch about the groan that escapes him as he takes the weight off his burning feet. Fitzjames settles nearby and pushes a glass of whiskey into Little’s waiting fingers.

“Stay for supper, Edward, please.”

Little shakes his head.

“Too much to be done,” he says. “I probably shouldn’t be here this long anyway.”

“You won’t do anyone any favours by collapsing on your feet,” Fitzjames chides. Little can feel his eyes on him as he struggles with his gloves, his hands stiff and unhelpful. He starts, when Fitzjames leans over, hooks his thin fingers under a cuff, watches as the captain peels first one, then the other from his hand. His skin is red raw, always raw these days, and he hisses slightly at the contact. Fitzjames tuts.

“You should get to your doctor when go, he’ll give you something for these. In fact…” Fitzjames’ movements are fluid, graceful in a way of which that Little has never felt himself capable, as he leans over to a drawer and rummages inside for its contents. “Here.” He pushes the drawer to with one hip, and opens the lid of a small tin. Little’s nose wrinkles.

“It’s not the most pleasant thing, but surprisingly effective. Let me.”

The ointment tingles against Little’s skin, but there’s a comfort in it, and perhaps more so with the gentle, methodical movements of Fitzjames’ fingers against his own. He allows himself a brief moment to relax, to be soothed, before he takes his hands away.

“I’m all right, sir,” he says, to Fitzjames’ disapproving frown. “Truly.” He pauses, then smiles wider than he feels. “It is kind of you to look out for me. I know you have more than enough to deal with here than to worry about my chilblains.” 

Fitzjames snorts, a curiously inelegant sound coming from him, and drops into a chair himself. He leans back, stretches out his feet until they are almost touching Little’s and shakes his head. “Please don’t think this is all altruism,” he says, letting his voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hosting you is probably the simplest task I have today.”

Despite himself, the lieutenant laughs and Fitzjames smiles in return. His smile has a warmth all its own, Little thinks; his heart prickles cold at the thought of losing it. A man could bask himself in that warmth, and stay protected from all the frozen dark outside these timbers. He nods, slow and careful, lets a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Then I suppose I would not be doing my duty if I did not stay,” he says. “For a little.”

“For a little,” Fitzjames replies.


End file.
